


narcotic eyecandy

by song_takemehome



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Echotale, F/M, Female Reader, Flirting, Friendship, Gaster Sans, Implied Sexual Themes, Reader Insert, Romance, Sexual Tension, Teasing, g!sans - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_takemehome/pseuds/song_takemehome
Summary: for reasons you don’t know, your neighbor seems to harbor a form of interest in you, if his attention-seeking ways are any indication. and you swear he purposely annoys you just for his own sadistic pleasure.* jan. 24, 2019: complete for now. may or may not come back to this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> chapters containing sexual content will be marked with an asterisk (*).

You don’t remember how or when it began, but your neighbor suddenly seems much too, for a lack of a crude word, overfamiliar. That isn’t even the appropriate term you have in mind (more like a you’re-invading-my-personal-life-and-I-don’t-appreciate-it kind of deal) because said neighbor is the one selfishly leashing onto your attention at the moment. One way or another, he always manages to find the littlest of ways to interact with you at least once a day. He grates on your nerves on severe levels you can’t even begin to understand. What boggles your mind is that you can’t find yourself exactly hating him (despite his tendencies to bother you), since you barely know him, but that’s changing quicker than is considered a comfortable pace for you.

You were decorating your modest balcony with autumn ornaments to help the season settle in more festively. Bouquets in hues of reds, oranges, yellows, and purples occupied flower pedestals in two corners; a garland of fall leaves and pine cones vined around the railing artfully; and a variety of styrofoam squashes piled in empty spaces and around the outdoor lounge chair. 

You were so lost in concentration that you missed hearing a nearby balcony sliding door open. His presence was made known by the familiar smell of smoke that seemed to adhere him, and it was too late then to outrun an inevitable meeting. When you glimpsed from your crouch of placing some pumpkins down you saw him lethargically propped onto his railing adjacent yours. You positively bristled at his incapability to at least pretend he wasn’t appreciatively gawking at your backside.

That’s where you are now: standing from your stoop and wisely keeping eye contact to a bare minimum. You learned that it’s best not to rise to any bait tempting you or to challenge him back, because that’s exactly what he hungers from you, the attention. Instead, you remind yourself to retain as much of a mild demeanor as possible. As if he can see right through you, though, his stark-white teeth crook to the left just the slightest, the burning cigarette twitching with the movement. You may not hate him, but you hate that smirk. Your face must be saying more than you can ever honestly admit, because his sockets narrow to crescent slivers, and now he’s shamelessly grinning at you in that infuriatingly languid fashion of his. Another inhale, embers blossom, another exhale, smoke seeps through his nasal cavity and teeth.

After what seems to feel like dying hours of regarding each other, you finally clear your throat and push out a formal greeting. “Good morning.” You dare not to accompany his name with that, less you want to give him hope you're gradually warming up to him which is not the case. 

“Morning,” he says, partnered with a head tilt. His voice is a cello rumble with a lick of rasp. Go figure. With his tousled appearance of wrinkled clothes, he might have just woken up not too long ago and come out for a morning smoke, the sleep lacing through his guttural words that went unused for however many hours he slept.

You’re not a fan of conversing with him, evading smalltalk and anything beyond vanilla chats. Since you’re done decking out the balcony to your liking, you give a nod and swivel to escape without seeming desperate.

“Why up so early on a Sunday?”

You wince, hand mere breadth-widths from the sliding door handle. If he had made a simple remark it’d be a given anyone could have easily talked their way out of it without appearing rude. Impoliteness isn’t your style, no matter how aggravated you are. Sometimes you hate being a good person. Plus, he most likely knows you don’t like him much, and you don’t want to give him the pleasure of your emotions. Sighing under your breath, you school your features as cooly as you can and turn to regard the skeleton monster. 

“You know me, Jax,” you say in fabricated amiability, even adding a straining smile that lifts your cheeks to nearly hide your eyes. 

Hearing his name is a bolt spearing through his individual vertebrates—you would be lying if you say you don’t find little pleasure in having some power over him—and he straightens imperceptibly, even if you know he can almost hear the intentional sarcasm underlying the benign civility of your statement that’s too good to be true, like a thin bed of cream cheese beneath a generous slathering of strawberry jam oozing the sides of a bread slice. 

He inhales the last of his cigarette, never breaking his eyes away from yours as he blindly, yet successfully flicks the filter remain into an overstuffed ashtray sitting alone on a table by his femur. His smirk wanes, but doesn’t disappear. You believe he doesn't much like losing the upper hand or being taken advantage of.

“Actually, I don’t know you. Maybe we can. . .” a royal yellow ring flares around a single marble of light within his pitch black socket, “acquaint ourselves better over some tea?” 

He’s right, you don’t know each other enough that goes beyond acquaintances, nor do you wish to, so you can’t deem if he will ever hurt you or not. Jax may seem relatively harmless and an insufferable neighbor who shares your wall, but you will never forget the danger of his nature. That part of him is a rare exhibit but still a perpetual reminder to keep your distance. You’re hardly bothered by the fact that he’s a monster. No, you’ve seen many monsters, some intimidating and others less so in all but looks. You’ve witnessed their magic, too, although nothing that has proven to be perilous. Personally, you have never seen him upset in any way, or even use his magic for that matter, but that doesn’t mean you can’t sense the unmistakable danger from him. 

You don’t think he's threatened you, rather you believe he just attempted a pickup line on you, albeit it sounded far more intense for a seduction tactic. And now your daily dose of Jax is met for the day. 

“Sorry,” you begin, although you truly aren’t, “I'm really picky with my flavors.” 

Before he has the chance to say anything, you break away, eager to reintroduce your senses with spiced candles rather than the smoke. In a few years time, you fear you’ll come down with lung cancer from secondhand smoking. He knows damn well your request to mind his nicotine relief when around you. You even asked him with genuine kindness, but that was before you discovered how much of an ass he could be. You’ve mostly given up on reminding him, and, instead, you promptly vacate the area while holding your breath.

Learning to no longer depend on parents for housing and food is the highest hurdle you first overcame as an independent individual now living on your own. You have a fairly stable job that brings income weekly and also allows you to spoil yourself once in awhile. You’re very comfortable where you are and are content to remain this way for quite a time along the road. You will not let Jax be the thorn in your side to bleed you dry. Enough of him for today; you refuse to let him hinder you from making the most of this Sunday. 

And speaking of tea. . .You make yourself a pot of creamy chai tea and settle on a pile of faux fur blankets, meaning to enjoy a cup while basking in blissful silence. You’re thankful Jax can be a fairly tolerable neighbor and allow you some peace. 

***

“Why won’t you just give him a chance?” 

For the umteenth time in the past hour or so that you’ve been trying to reason (and failing) with your friend why you have no desire whatsoever to pursue anything with the skeleton, you heave out a dramatic sigh that flutters a stack of paper on your desk. 

“That poor guy, always chasing after you, and here you are, heartless, refusing to at least try—” Kaley violently flinches away when you whip your hand out and threaten to poke her none too gently in the side. She dissolves to teenage giggles at being able to provoke you without hardly trying. “You know I’m only joking.”

Your brow pulls up to your hair line, clearly unconvinced. How many times has she said this, yet continues to bring it up, like a recurring gag beginning to run stale the more it's told? “Sometimes you make me wonder if you’re trying to set me up with him or if  _ you’re  _ the one who’s head over heels in love.” 

Kaley releases an exaggerated raspberry with frantic waving of her hands. From your point, she seems eager to defend herself, instilling fear that she may actually be pinning after Jax. You’d rather streak on public television than allow your friend to fall in his hands. That may be exaggerating some but still.

“I’ve never seen the monster before and I don’t know him as much as you.”

“ _ I _ know him as well as  _ you  _ do,” you say through gnashed teeth. 

“Okay, no problem. Invite him for coffee—unless he doesn’t drink coffee, then maybe a lunch date. Wait, is that too soon for a lunch date? How about baking him some cookies or something? On second thought, that’s really cheesy. Oh, I know—”

“Kaley!” you hiss, eyes glowing like the infernos of hell. Your friend merely collapses onto her desk, shaking with silent laughter. “Did my explanation go in one ear and out the other?”

She mocks mulling over the question, a finger to her wrinkled chin and a single brow curved nearly to a point. “Something about being a nuisance. But you know what they say when a boy bothers a girl, right?”

“That idiom is wrong on so many levels. I mean, sure it sounds kind of cute, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be annoyed on a daily basis. Jax is an adult, which makes it even worse, because he knows exactly what he’s doing. I know he derives some perverse thrill in tormenting me. Add in the mixed signals of so called ‘flirting’ and I have a mess on my hands.”

“He can’t be that bad, can he?” she asks, hesitance gentling her voice.

“First of all, he knows I’ve asked him to not smoke when I’m around, and he still does it. Purposely. In my face. Sometimes he can get unnecessarily loud at the most random time intervals, usually at night, you know, when I’m sleeping. Plus, he always seems to have friends over, and I’m not exaggerating when I say they’re loud. He enjoys playing pranks, childish ones at that but annoying nonetheless. Don’t get me started on his jokes. He parks in my spot, mixes our clothes, always borrows something and doesn’t give them back until I ask, and when he flirts—ugh—he cannot take no for an answer—”

“Okay, he sounds pretty bad.” Kaley actually has the decency to look sheepish which doesn’t last long, quickly morphing to a mischievous grin. “He’s got it  _ bad  _ for you, real bad. Think about it: he wants your attention and one way is to be that annoying neighbor. I’d say it’s a success, he does have your eyes and ears.”

“It’s a partial success. Hypothetically speaking, if he does genuinely like me then he’s going about this in a very immature way, a way that I detest. I swear, Kay, he’s a sadistic ass who wants me to suffer for his enjoyment,” you grouse, furiously typing away. Your abuse on the keyboard is so harsh, you’re surprised it hasn’t broken under your fingers yet. 

“And you have confronted him about his antics?”

“Many, many times. Granted I gave up because he refuses to consider my complains, but give me credit for trying.” 

“You know what, girl? We need to go out and get drunk.”


	2. Chapter 2

Come Friday, Kaley is barging into your apartment, looking prepared to take a flight with her luggage of clothes and beautifications. You’ve taken a shower beforehand, knowing your friend by now. If you don't after fourteen years of friendship, that's quite disappointing, to say the least.

She doesn't give you a chance to protest, immediately invading your closet and comically gagging at your particular choice of fashion that happens to be up-to-date with the past couple years. Truthfully told, you both know you don't drink, whether it's for fun, for suppressing problems or in general. That doesn’t matter to her; she’s taking you with her regardless, and since you love her, you’ll willingly go.

Kaley finally decides on a number that will help you blend in: a burgundy halter dress that clings to you in a strategic way, giving an impression that it’s a single wrap. The hem falls above your knees, a single slit travels up one side, and the entirety of your back is naked but nothing a simple jacket wouldn’t be able to cover.

You commend her on her abilities for being a good friend and helping you be comfortable while in a zone you aren’t very comfortable with. She tosses you some heels and sits you down to style your hair and apply a fair amount of makeup, knowing you don’t really enjoy caking your face with a layer of cosmetics. By the time she’s done with you in her tight clutches, you look ready to attend some high-end party rather than a bar. Kaley doesn’t seem to approve, quickly combing her hands through your hair to mess her work up fashionably. Within another hour both of you are prettied to the max and more than ready to have a few toxins in your systems. At least, that’s what Kaley exclaims as she hooks onto your arm and struts out the door.

As soon as you’re locking up, the devil happens to coincidentally come out at the same time. You have never known silence to be so suffocating as the three of you exchange glances. For the first time, Jax doesn’t have anything to quip, instead he can only stare. His carefully blank skull is unnerving, a first for you since all you ever are is irritated with him. Self-consciously you pull the front of your leather jacket tighter to your chest, as if it might help to protect you from the weight of his eyes that are gradually diminishing into the blackness of his sockets, something you’re not familiar with.

“Hi!” Kaley’s exclamation slices through the stiff atmosphere. “I’m Kaley, a friend of this girl here.”

You mentally thank her for intervening, reminding yourself to buy her a drink later.

“You must be Jax. Y’know, she talks about you _a lot_.”

Actually, you change your mind about getting her that drink. “Kay, we should get going,” you say with deliberation, refusing to meet his eyes because they’re still pinned on you.

“Where ya headed?” His words are as slow as dissipating smoke, but they’re not as soft. The skeleton may be nonchalantly leaning against his door, but he’s giving you a pointed look, demanding an answer.

Kaley doesn’t hesitate to reply in your stead, seemingly missing the tense undertones lingering exclusively between you two. “A bar. It’s been a pretty stressful week,” she’s careful to be vague, thankfully, “so I thought it’d be nice to wind down to start off the weekend.”

Jax dips his head once, the motion fluid and serene; however, his eyes are nearly gone. You’ve never been scared of him before, cautious but never scared, and you hate feeling inferior to him. Suddenly, you’re unable to tear your eyes away from his, waiting as they get smaller and smaller until they’re not even iotas of lights. . .but that doesn’t happen. At gunshot speed, the marbles quickly return to their original size and he’s grinning as per usual.

“Have fun, and be safe,” he bids before presenting his back while he saunters away.

You don’t realize how coiled your muscles are until he’s a good distance away. You fear your lungs might have collapsed from the lack of breathing.

“He’s hot.”

The corridor echoes from the smack you land on Kaley’s arm.

***

It’s one in the morning when you finally call it a night. Unfortunately, you don’t trust your friend to be drunk and home by herself, so you’re taking her with you. You kept count of how many drinks she’s put in her system, which you still worry about and half expect her to be spewing out any second now, while you were idly circling the rim of your single cocktail that you managed to savor throughout the night. Thankfully Kaley had enough sense to stick with you instead of wandering off to butter up some guy. Her sex life is hers alone, but you hate her sleeping with random one night stands; you’d rather she have a regular partner, someone you would know.

Your thoughts come to a screeching halt as said friend begins to slip off your shoulder and your arms, gradually weakening by the second, that can no longer support her. A thin veil of sweat covers your scalp, your skin is overwhelmingly warm, and you won’t be able to pull her into your apartment the rest of the way in, not without dragging her and possibly ruining her clothes or hurting her, and you really have no energy left. Knowing no other neighbors well enough to wake them in the middle of the night to ask for assistance, you stand stock still in the corridor as you know exactly who is up around this time and would be more than glad to help you.

This time, and only this time, you close the lid on your judgment on the skeleton and reluctantly turn to eye the ominous door. By involuntary choice your feet remain cemented where they are. You know you’re stalling, but you also know he’s the only one who can help you. Groaning, you steel yourself and put all your courage to knock on the metal barrier. A single minute feels like an hour, but it’s no more than that when the door creaks open. Jax looks as awake as he did hours earlier, the only difference is that he’s dressed down in comfier clothes.

Shell-shocked doesn’t justify the surprise taking over his skull. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting you, not tonight, not ever. You must be quite the sight, too; there were difficulties placing Kaley into your car from the bar and hauling up the steps of the apartment complex, because she knocked out cold during the ride and you’re considerate of her being. Your little makeup might be slightly smudged, your jacket completely discarded somewhere, heels forgotten (you think one might be down the stairs), and you suspect you look haggard, as if you got hit by a car, died, and came back alive. Frankly, you don’t care; there are more pressing matters at hand, such as your dozing friend that you have zero patience and strength for.

Suddenly, you seem to forget the simple functions of communication, your mouth gaping opening and remaining unhinged with nothing but air coming in and out. Jax’s brow bone that appears to have distinct grooves in place of where his brows are supposed to be shifts at an angle, one higher than the other. He doesn’t murmur a thought, asking in silence with his very expressive osseous face.

“Um.” You finally manage to find your voice and promptly wince at the unintelligent choice of greeting. His unspoken amusement isn’t lost on you, but you choose to ignore that for the time being. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” You don’t know why you’re bothering with a preface.

“Not at all,” he says with a shadow of a smirk. “Need something?”

“Yeah, I. . .” you look away, finding this more difficult than you initially thought, “I need help. With my friend. She’s, uh, really drunk and asleep. And I can’t carry her anymore, not on my shoulder, at least. That’s how I was originally carrying her, and I don’t want to drag her in case I ruin her dress or hurt her on accident—” You’re rambling, you realize and are quick to stop your yapping as his smirk grows. “Jax, I just—can you help me get her inside? Please?” You can only sigh out the plea in such a tender tone, more gentle than you have ever thought with using on him.

He must see how exhausted you are, the quirk of his lips falling slack. Only for a moment does he regard you before nodding. “‘Course, anything for you.”

You retract to give him room to step into the corridor. He works quick yet gingerly, something that strikes you with awe, to cradle Kaley in his arms. The bones are much thicker than human bones, forming mass where muscle is supposed to be. He holds her with seemingly no effort, as if she weighs nothing. You imagine them to be quite uncomfortable digging into your flesh if he were carrying you. That thought is waved away as he gestures with a glance for you to open your door. It dawns on you that you’re about to let him inside your home; you hesitate, but your friend being safely tucked into bed is more concerning at the moment.

The second he’s inside, you lead him to your bedroom, directing him to lay her on the bed, ignoring the prickle of your self-conscious thoughts. You assure the skeleton that you’ll take care of things from here and silently walk him to your door.

“Thank you, this means a lot,” you say, words barely above a whisper. He hears you regardless.

“‘S no problem. Just glad you’re okay.” Jax shrugs, a single lift of his shoulder with hands lodged deep into his pockets as he boldly stares at you.

You grow nervous when he doesn’t immediately walk away. Just as you’re about to bid him goodnight, he gives you pause with the slow motion of his arm. He’s giving you a chance to pull away, but you don’t (odd enough), stiff and awaiting what he will do.

His thick phalanges whisper across the slope of your cheek bone, gliding along your skin to capture a rebellious lock and tucking it behind your ear in the most affectionate manner that it makes you wonder if this is the same Jax you know as your infamously annoying neighbor. He doesn’t stop there, trailing his touch down to where the beginning of your jaw and neck meet, lingering just on that curve. His eyes are more intense than you have ever witnessed, and it startles you.

“Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night,” you say in return, just as breathless. Jax is merciful, drawing his hand back and returning to his apartment without a backward glance. When you peer down at your grip on your door handle, your knuckles are so white you fear your skin might thin out and break.

Unsure of how to make of that encounter, you decide tonight is long overdue. After peeling off layers of clothes and products, you slip into looser clothes and makeshift a bed on your couch. Within minutes, you’re off deep into your dreams.

The following morning, you force yourself into the shower. You’re reluctant to cleanse yourself on a daily basis, but once underneath the scalding waterfall you temporarily dub the shower as your new home. With no desires to pay extra for water bills, you finish in twenty minutes. Kaley won’t be up until noon, so you head outside for some air, dismissing preparing for breakfast. Not long after, the scent of smoke accompanies you, Jax not far behind.

“You always know when I’m outside.”

“I’d be a terrible neighbor if I didn't greet you every morning.” He’s only teasing, of course, but for the first time since you’ve met him, you laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism is appreciated. thank you for reading.


End file.
